Independence Day
by Shiro the Shinigami
Summary: Apocolyptic Dark!Hetalia. For almost fifteen years, the countries have lived in the shadows, isolated from the rest of the world and living like normal humans. But now, mysterious bombers have turned Holland to black cinders, pushing England into action again. Is it too late to reassemble the World Powers? Or is there still hope left for Utopia? R&R, please!
1. Prologue

((Konnichiwa, fellow Hetalia fans! Nice to meet you! I'm Shiro. Thank you for taking the time to read this fancy-schmancy work of mine. I hope you enjoy it. I've had a lot of fun working on it, too, and in honor of Flag Day 2012, I've decided to post it. It will be annually updated, and by annually I mean whenever I get off my butt to write another chapter. I love reviews, so if you have anything (and I mean _anything_) to say just give me a shout. c:

Some of the human names that are going to be featured here are _not_ canon. I'll note the ones that aren't canon, but I'll try to use any canon human names I can. Alongside that, I'll have plenty of OC countries, but I'm going to try to keep the "real" countries of Hetalia as the main focus, the Roman Catholic Church being the exception. Also, if you see something (like a translation, name, place, etc.) that I totally screwed, don't be afraid to tell me.

Names that aren't canon:

Ewan Kirkland (which is Wales, England's older brother)

Jason Kirkland (which is Scotland, England's oldest brother)

Edson Morgen (which is the Netherlands)

Chai Attali (which is Israel)

Matthias Sophus (which is the Roman Catholic Church)

I guess I'll leave you to read, then. c: Enjoy!))

**Independence Day**

**Shiro the Shinigami**

**Prologue**

My dearest brother,

I am not writing you with good tidings. I write now as the bearer of terrible news.

You obviously have heard of Holland's bombing on October 14th, 2057. Almost the entire of Holland's borders have been decimated by bomber pilots, though we are still not sure who this mysterious enemy is. Edson Morgen has sustained serious injuries and lays in critical condition inside Leiden University Medical Center. Your brother Jason and I are planning to stay beside him in case any other attacks might worsen his condition, and Chai Attali has already been summoned from Israel.

The only thing that we know so far about the attackers is that every single plane had the Roman crest painted into the left side of their hulls.

Arthur, I believe that our time of hiding is over. We need to stand up and take charge of our world again. There is danger now, danger enough to kill us even though we have walked away from our divine duties. The dangers are not going to cease. They are only going to progress and possibly take the lives of their true leaders.

We need to gather the world powers again. There is no time to waste. The surviving bomber planes have disappeared behind Russian borders, leaving only the threat of destruction in their wake.

First, find Feliciano and Romano. They'll know what to do if there is a threat from the Roman Catholic Church. I've sent you photographs of the fallen planes to show to them if they are still unsure. Watch the brothers carefully, however. If Matthias truly is behind this, it won't be long before he seizes control of Italy... if he hasn't already.

Godspeed, brother.

- Ewan Kirkland, of Wales

England folded up the letter from his older brother, sliding it into his messenger bag. When he looked out the window of the aircraft, he could see the Italian countryside getting closer and closer as they prepared to land. The city of Bergamo was beautiful in the early-morning sunlight, with sun sparkling off the shingled roofs. He sighed. It had been a long time since he had seen a country this beautiful.

The plane landed. People streamed quickly out of the plane, and England waited for most everyone to exit before he made a move. He was in no hurry, after all. Feliciano and Romano weren't expecting him.

He pulled a card out of his pocket with the address of the café that the twin Italians worked at, going over it one last time so that he made sure the would remember it. Then he made his way quickly out of the airport, with nothing to carry but a small carry-on bag. He wasn't going to stay long.

A short bus ride showed him a bit of Bergamo, including its magnificient architecture and cheery civilians. As they neared the main road, England took his leave and decided to walk the few blocks towards the restauraunt, hoping that the twins wouldn't be too busy to notice him.

But luckily, the restauraunt was smaller than he'd imagined. "_il Café"_was only about the size of a laundromat, with lots of small round tables and a long counter, behind which Romano busied himself. Feliciano waited on tables, dressed in a simple suit with an apron tied around his waist. His large curl bobbed off the side of his head, a huge smile on his face as he conversed with a few of his customers.

When England came into the café, the bell above the door chimbed a shrill note. Feliciano spun around, cheerily shouting, "_Benvenuto, amico!_" He then froze, blinking at the new (or old) sight, and furrowed his eyebrows as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. "...England?"

He smiled. "Hello, Feliciano." He answered, gently reminding him to use their human names instead of their country names.

Italy replied with a shriek, jumping to wrap his arms around England's neck. The change of weight made him spin, his arms around Feliciano's waist so that he wouldn't fly off. "Arthur!" He cried. "Arthur, I'ma so happy to see you! Aha!"

"Feliciano?" Romano questioned from behind the counter, not bothering to look up. "Who is it?"

"It's Arthur Kirkland!" He shouted back. "From England! Remember him?"

Romano moved from the counter, wiping his hands on his own apron as he came around. He blinked at England, but didn't smile like Feliciano had. He only looked him over, his eyes slightly narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you two." He answered, putting Italy down.

"Is it Arthur coming to talk to us?" Romano asked.

He shook his head.

"Did something happen?" Italy questioned, sounding worried. "Is everyone okay?"

"Do you watch the news? Read the newspaper?"

Italy tilted his head. "Not often. Why?"

"There's been a bombing. Holland was completely decimated."

"Is he alright?"

"He's in critical condition. My brothers are with him, and they don't think there's much hope at this point."

Italy looked like he was about to cry. Romano took his arm and led him into the back of the store, saying simply, "We shouldn't talk about this out here. The customers don't understand much English, but we don't want them getting any ideas. After they're gone, we'll close up for the day and you can talk about whatever you came to talk about."

England nodded. "Alright."

Romano clicked the door of their café shut, then turned to join his brother and England at one of the tables. All of their previous customers had gone, so they were alone in the small restauraunt, the smell of pasta drifting through the room. The brothers sat beside each other, their curls opposite each other.

"So, England? What did you want to talk to us about?" Romano asked, sliding into his seat.

England pulled the folder with the photographs out of his bag and placed them on the table. "These are photos of the bomber planes. About thirty of them were shot down during the attack, but the rest of them flew across Europe and into Russian territory. Even though some of them are beat up pretty badly, you can still make out the symbol on the hull."

Italy looked at the photos, his eyes getting wide. "...that's Grandpa Rome's symbol!"

He nodded. "I was hoping you'd recognize it."

The young Italian glanced up. "You don't think that this has anything to do with Grandpa Rome, do you?"

"Of course not. Grandpa Rome is long-since dead. It's probably just a cult or something, using the Roman symbol for some kind of religious statement." Romano brushed it off, tossing the photo he had been looking at back onto the table. "There was an attack. So what? There's always attacks. No one freaked out when America or Japan were bombed. You're overreacting."

England's expression darkened. "You two really don't keep up with the latest times, do you?"

They exchanged glances. "No..."

"There've been five attacks so far. Two attacked Sweden, one Iceland, one Ireland, and now, this one has put a huge black scar on the Netherlands where Holland once was." He put down a few more photos, these showing the true extend of the destruction of Holland. "When I said that Netherlands was in critical condition, I meant it."

Italy sighed at the photos, memories of World War II beginning to resurface. "But what does this have to do with Grandpa Rome?"

"We don't know yet. Know one knows where these planes are coming from, and no one knows why they're attacking. But they've got Europe's attention. They could attack anywhere next - France, Spain, Poland, Germany..."

"Germany?" Feliciano gasped. "No, they can't attack Germany!"

"Germany isn't too far from Holland. And Britain isn't too far either. The Royal Family has gone into a specialized holding place until this invisible enemy will make itself known. All we have is the symbol, and their retreat..."

"Retreat?" Romano asked.

"They retreat to Russia." England said. "We're not sure if they stay in Russia or move somewhere else, but they do always return to Russia. Western Europe is hanging on the brink of declaring war on Russia, though Wales hasn't been able to get in touch with him for almost ten years. We're not sure where he is, or if he's really behind this... but..."

"But what?" Italy grabbed onto Romano's arm.

"I've come to the conclusion that we, as countries," He began, "should step up and regain our rightful place as the leaders of the world."

"Leaders?"

"Yes." England kept his expression serious, with his hands folded on the tabletop. "They need us."

"How did you get that out of a few bombings?" Romano asked, huffing.

"There's something unnatural about the entire situation. All of us have felt it, and I'm sure you two have, too." Arthur explained. "Not just the symbol of the Roman Empire, or their retreat to a country who's been silent for a decade. But the world leaders are fumbling for control over their provinces and Europe is fearful. They need leaders. With this latest bombing, the enemy has shown that it can take out entire cities, provinces, in less than twelve hours with no warning. Without knowledge of them there is no safety. We're on the brink of World War III as the leaders point fingers, and I won't let these people burn to the ground the countries we've spent blood to build.

"We, as countries, have the upper hand. We've spent almost fifteen years in the shadows, without a word in our governments, and centuries being stepped on while the selfish politicians take control for themselves. We're not here to sit around and watch the elections determine our fate. We need to seize the control that we deserve and that we were born for.

"My brother has given me instructions to gather the different countries from the cities they've hidden themselves in. You two are the ones who have been most open to sharing your location, but there are others - like Russia - who we haven't heard from in ages. Wales also said to find you first because you'll help convince the ones who aren't quite as willing to give up their human lives. But both of these things add to the same: without you two on board, this ship isn't going anywhere. What do you say? Will you help me?"

Feliciano stared at his hands in his lap. "...England, I want to help, but..."

"We don't want to take responsibility for our country's fate." Romano put frankly. "We're tied to it, yes, but with leadership comes the responsibility of the people you command. As countries, if we make one slip-up, get one bad virus, take one bad step into the road, millions of people could die."

"I understand that. We all face that, Romano." England replied. "But we have to face it with courage, don't we?"

He pursed his lips, staring at the windows.

"I want to help him, brother." Italy said, looking towards Romano. "Can we?"

Romano didn't quite seem convinced, but glanced at Arthur for a moment, then sighed. "If you want to, Feliciano, I wouldn't mind a vacation. But if anything goes wrong, it'll be on your head, Britain."

The Englishman nodded solemnly, then gathered his photos and stood. "We should leave as soon as possible, then. I have three tickets out of Bergamo."

"Three? You were so certain we'd tag along?" Romano eyed him.

"I hoped for it." He stated. "Hope isn't something to be ignored, especially now."


	2. Chapter 1

((Hello again! Thank you for reading this far. Please leave me a word! I love hearing from readers. ^.^))

**Independence Day**

**Shiro the Shinigami**

**Chapter 1**

"Wait up, England!" Italy Feliciano called, waving to the Brit waiting on the Italian street. Arthur quickly spun around and put an index finger to his lips, and Feliciano cowered. "Scary face, England. I was just'a gonna say that the bus is on the other side of the street."

"...oh, of course." England pursed his lips, then glanced both ways and crossed the street.

"Been spending time at America's house lately? Ah, Alfred's?" Feliciano asked, tilting his head as he followed him.

A blush spread across his cheeks momentarily. "Th-that doesn't matter, now, does it?" He yelped, then took a better survey of himself and straightened his coat. "It was just a little forgetfulness. Nothing much. Where's Romano?"

Italy pointed back towards the shop, where his older brother was locking up the café doors. "Just finishing."

"How have you two managed to make it here?" Arthur sighed, looking over the small restauraunt. "It doesn't seem like it would support you two well."

"We get by. Plus, we have lots'a money from Roman Catholic Chuch when he comes around to visit. Says his Italies need to stay healthy and strong, so he gives us whatever we ask for. Spain, too, though Romano doesn't like him to come over."

"Ah." England's face fell. "How often does Matthius visit you?"

"The Church? Every other week, usually. He just'a came a few days ago."

"Hmm."

"Why? Is something wrong with Catholic Church?"

"It's best you call them by their human names in public, Feliciano."

"But only a few of'a people speak English here."

"It's the few that I'm worried about."

"I can't remember all the aliases."

"Well, just try to be careful."

"Okay, Britain."

Arther shot him a glare, then sighed and turned back to the road. Romano was coming across, a bag the size of a carry-on in his right hand. He was wearing heavy clothing for the beautiful Italian weather, but England said they were going northwards, so he'd have to dress appropriately. October didn't have such nice temperatures other places in the world.

"Why we waiting here?" Romano asked, brushing his curl out of his face. His cheeks were starting to blush from the heat underneath his coat.

"The bus." Feliciano smiled, taking his brother's hand. "It should be here any minute." He then started talking to Romano in Italian, which was a good symbol as any that England wasn't supposed to hear their conversation. This irked him, but not to the point that he made a point of it. He folded his arms and glanced down the street.

It was then that he noticed the stall owner a few paces away, talking in French into a small black cell phone. The man wore a played-down suit with an in-style trench coat, something that made an odd pair when he thought about it, and a large silver crucifix around his neck. His cropped blond hair had a slight Italian curl to it. His lips read "_Ils ont laissé,"_ which England knew (thanks to the time spent with France over the ages) to mean "they've gone".

A sliver of fear twirled its way up his spine, and he took Feliciano by the shoulder and strode in the opposite direction from the cross-wearing man. Romano yelped something that was probably very vulgar Italian, running to keep up with them. "What'a you think you're doing?"

"When did you say Matthias visited you last?" England asked, his voice dark.

"The last time was a little while ago, three days I think. He shouldn't be around for another week. Why? Should we leave him a note?"

"No, that won't be necessary." He glanced back to see the French man again having disappeared from his stand. There was about a moment of realization before he knocked headlong into the man, who now he realized was about two feet taller than he was.

"_Bonjour, mon ami."_ The Frenchman grinned, exposing a gold canine tooth. "_Où allez-vous?"_

"_Pardonnez-moi, monsieur."_ England replied, stubling through the French phrases. "_Je vais être en retard." _He then walked around the man, rubbing the imprint of Christ out of his forehead from where he had struck the silver crucifix. The Italies were ahead of him, waiting anxiously at the next bus stop. They had, of course, retreated at sight of the lumbering man.

"_Je vais vous voir."_ He nodded, and stepped back into the crowd, vanishing. It seemed impossible that such a large man could blend so well with the small Italians on the street, but he couldn't be picked out.

"Who was that?" Feliciano asked.

"I was hoping you'd know." Britain sighed, glancing back to see the empty space in the sidewalk where the man had stood. "Have you seen him before?"

"He always works the shop over there. Started working just after we did, a few weeks at most. He likes his pasta _con pomodori_." Romano answered.

"He's so big, I hide when he comes around." The younger Italy shuddered.

"There's the bus," Romano pointed out. "Are we paying for our own tickets?"

"Don't expect me to," England replied. "My boss has cleaned my wallet lately with public projects and the Queen's party bills." He sighed. "Wales covered the plane tickets for me."

"Ah. I see, I see. Well, there's no problem. Beside Roman Church's financing and Spain's gifts we're pretty well set. Right, Romano?"

He huffed, still watching down the road. "What did that guy say?"

"He asked where we were going." England answered. "For some reason, I don't think that Roman Church has been the only one keeping a close eye on you."

"The boss?" Italy squeaked. "He said he wouldn't bother us if we went to live like normal people and didn't cause trouble. We did both those things, why would he be-"

"I don't think it's your boss, either. I think it's Roman- Matthias."

"Matthias wouldn't do that." Romano waved him off.

"He's been known to get possessive, and he's fancied you two for centuries, if you don't remember. It wouldn't be all that surprising." England flipped out his cellphone and started punching at the keys. "I'll talk to Ewan about it."

"C'mon, the bus is here." Feliciano jumped, smiling at the bus coming down the paved Italian streets.


	3. Chapter 2

((Thank you for reading! Please leave me a word, I really do love hearing from my readers! :3))

**Independence Day**

**Chapter 2**

A crisp breeze swept through Lithuania's long brown hair. He had just left the small grocer and began clamping home, his leather boots packing the snow even tighter into the cobblestone roads. Poland had caught a cold (which was no surprise with the weather they'd been having), so he decided to run out for a cold patch and ingredients for soup.

The sickness worried Toris, especially with the threat of bombings hanging over their heads. He had already made arrangements for the both of them to visit a pretty country home on the Lithuanian countryside, though that would be next week. For now, they were stuck in an apartment on a crowded Polish street in Sulwaki.

But anywhere would be better than Russia's house. After the countries decided to live as normal people, the rule of territorial confinement was nullified, so Lithuania could live where he liked. Of course, the first thing he did was go to Poland's house. He was lucky that he caught him before Poland left for Poznań. They had lived together since then.

Lithuania tightened the scarf around his neck, leaving it just loose enough to cover his mouth and keep some of the warmth from his breath. At first wearing a scarf made him uncomfortable, because of the memories that would resurface when he thought of Russia's scarf. But Poland wore them too, so after a while they became normal for him. Even comfortable, dare he say it. They kept his teeth from chattering.

He turned a corner towards where his apartment was located, and bumped shoulders with a familiar young lady. "_Oh!_ _Aš atsiprašau! er, przykro mi." _Toris stuttered, blurting his apologies in Lithuanian before pausing to return to Polish. He then stooped down to collect the vegetables now strewn in the snow.

"_Przykro mi, sir."_ The blonde girl replied in a strange accent, leaning down to help him. She tried to say something else, but then coughed and asked, "English?"

"I speak English." Lithuania smiled. "I apologize for running into you."

"Ah, it was my fault." She sighed, her voice now boasting a fluid British accent. Her big blue eyes reminded him of Arthur Kirkland's, actually. Though, Arthur wouldn't screw up a simple Polish phrase. "Cold patches. Is someone sick?"

He nodded. "My, er, friend." Lithuania chose not to mention his and Feliks' relationship, being as that most Poles he'd met weren't very open to the topic. And beyond that, he wasn't quite sure where he and Poland stood, anyway. Before Russia had taken him over, the two had been married, but after, it was dissolved against their will. Just another backlash of being born a country instead of a person.

"Well, I hope he gets better soon." The young lady smiled. He glanced up to smile back at her, and then noticed the large silver crucifix hanging around her neck. It shouldn't have surprised him to see such an outright Catholic symbol on a respectable young lady, being that Poland was aproximately 95% Roman Catholic. The Church always had a say. But he hadn't seen one so heavy and _blatant_ for a long time.

"Thank you miss. May I ask, where did you get that charm?" Toris asked, pointing out her cross.

"Oh, eh, it was a gift." She nodded, taking it in her hand to look closely at it. "Wonderful, isn't it? Quite the beauty. Are you Christian?"

Lithuania smiled politely and answered, "I'm afraid I'm not."

" '_Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,_' " The woman replied.

" '_Act as free men,_' " Lithuania countered. " '_Honor all men; love the brotherhood, fear God, honor the king._' "

She looked pleasantly surprised. "You know your Scripture."

"I was raised on its principles." Toris said, standing. "It's been nice speaking with you. _Do widzenia."_

"_Do widzenia."_ She said, waving as she walked the other way. Lithuania smiled, then turned back ahead and let his face fall. Where had he seen her before? He knew there was something awfully familiar about her. Maybe it was just her odd resemblance of England. Either way, it bothered him into the apartment complex, up the stairs, and thorugh his and Poland's front door. He didn't have the mind to notice the door was unlocked.

"Ah, there he is." He heard a scratchy voice croak from the sofa, no doubt from Poland. "I told you he'd be here."

Toris turned the corner, a little frightened to find who Poland was talking to. Had Russia come back to haunt him? Had Feliks let his horse into the apartment again?

Instead, he found Britain seated on the loveseat in front of the window. He stood when he saw Lithuania. Poland was stretched across the sofa, a blanket around his shoulders as he leaned back on the cushions. A steaming cup of tea was in his hand. Just when Toris wondered where he had gotten it, he heard a crash from the kitchen and an Italian phrase. Feliciano? No, both the twins were there. And most likely destroying his kitchen.

"A-Arthur." He stammered. "I wasn't expecting you..."

"We did show up unannounced." Britain nodded. "Can I help you with that?" He reached to take the bag out of Lithuania's arms.

"Oh, you don't have to..." He stopped. England was already in the kitchen. He overheard Feliciano shriek with joy when he saw the vegetables brought home, spurting someting about adding them to the pasta dish. Pasta? He had to sit down. Poland generously opened his blanket for Toris to join him, but the brown-haired country walked around to sit by his feet instead.

After depositing the grocery bag in the kitchen, Britain returned to the sitting room and replaced himself on the loveseat. "Now, back to business. Since Lithuania's just arrived, I think it'll be safer if I just started at the beginning. You've no doubt heard about the bombing of Holland."

Toris nodded. He had to get used to being called Lithuania again, though. Even just between Poland and himself he had been "Toris" for years.

England went through the things he had gone through with the Italies yesterday afternoon. The bombers with the Roman symbol stamped onto their hulls, Russia's possible involvance (which personally affected Lithuania), and the obvious threat on other nearby countries like Germany, Britain, Belguim, or Poland. He then moved on to say the plan that Wales and himself had put together - that the countries would stand as leaders again instead of staying in the shadows.

"_To szale__ństwo__."_ Poland stated, folding his arms. "We can't just expect to go to our bosses and get what we want. Those people have been in charge for centuries, and they aren't going to give up their power so easily."

"Alone we can't," Arthur agreed, "but if the countries band together and demand reform, they'll have to give us an ear. And besides, who are they to stand in the way of us as countries to control and govern ourselves? It isn't illogical."

"But it _is _impossible." Lithuania said quietly. "I know that a lot of countries are moving towards democratic governments. Everyone wants power, and a democracy is a way to give every citizen power. That means that not only will we go through our bosses, we'll go through the people of our countries too." He brushed his hair behind his ears, thinking a moment before continuing. "It might seem easy for you, Arthur. Your country is mostly aristocratic and you have a good relationship with the Queen and her Royal Family. But what about the countries who aren't personally friends with their bosses? Or countries that are democratic, like America or Canadia?"

Arthur's heart sank. Lithuania was right. It seemed so simple, just to get the Queen's permission to become the overhead instead of the underling. Yeah, it would take convincing and strong support, but it didn't seem too terrible a task.

"I hadn't thought of that." He said honestly.

"Of course you didn't." Poland sneered. "And I bet that older brother of yours hasn't thought of it either."

England narrowed his eyes. "Whatever difficulty, it's not a plan to sneer at."

"No, it's not..." Lithuania said, more to back England up than to agree with him. "But I'll still have to think about it."

"Me, too." Poland piped up. "I don't like throwing myself into situations with crazy odds, but I'll support Toris in whatever he decides."

Lithuania blinked at Poland, feeling a blush nip at his cheeks. "W-well then..."

"Alright. Take all the time you need." He smiled softly, though he looked a little worn-out. The time zone switches were starting to creep up on him, and the cold weather was messing with his head too. "We have hotel reservations for tonight, and tickets for tomorrow."

"What's your next destination?" Poland asked.

"Austria." He replied. "Roderich's also gotten in contact with Hungary, so we'll reach her too. I don't think they'll need much convincing."

"Don't be too sure." Feliks sighed, lumping himself against the pillows of the couch again. "He's pretty hard-headed in what he stands for. If you don't get him one hundred percent, he's going to split the group."

Britain nodded. "That's true."

"Uhm..." Lithuania sat forward. "Don't you think it would be important to influence Switzerland too? He's usually the peaceful one of all of us and he might help us settle some of our disputes."

"Yes, that's true. Ewan has already spoken with Switzerland, and he's given his consent. He and Liechtenstein are friendlies, and they'll help in whatever ways we need in getting in contact with the different countries. They're the ones who keep track of all these things, after all."

"Bankers..." Poland mumbled.

Arthur stood and brushed himself off. "Well, then, we won't keep you any longer." He slid a business card out of his coat pocket and handed it to Lithuania. He wasn't very good at reading English, but he could read the telephone number at the bottom. "That's my personal phone. Call me if you have any questions. We'll be leaving at three tomorrow from the Fredric Chopin Airport in Warsaw. I would prefer if you let me know where you are in your descision tomorrow before noon."

"I'll be sure to." Lithuania nodded.

"Alright, then. Feliciano! Romano!" England walked into the kitchen. "Is that finished yet?"

"Almost, _amico!_" Feliciano laughed. "Just have to salt it a bit and it'll be _perfetto!_"

"I want to get out of this place." Romano complained.

"Go wait outside, then." England sighed. "Hurry up, Italy."

"There! All done!" Feliciano came out of the kitchen with Toris' white apron tied around his waist. He carried two steaming bowls of pasta, set with the fresh vegetables that Lithuania had brought from the grocer. He set the bowls on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "There'a you go! It's a recipe I learned from Japan a long time ago. During War II, I think. Feel better soon, Poland!" Italy giggled and skipped forward, planting a soft kiss against Feliks' forehead.

Lithuania saw Poland's walls begin to break down as he stuttered nervously.

"Goodbye to you, too, Lithuania!" Feliciano continued, and embraced the other country. He then skipped back towards the kitchen, left the apron laying across the back of a kitchen stool, and headed out the door. Britain waved his goodbye, and closed the door behind him.

"Thank goodness they're gone..." Feliks exhaled.

"Those Italians sure are full of energy..." Toris replied.

"They really are. Ooh, look at that food. Just like Honda's. Give me my bowl, would you?"

Lithuania blinked, then grabbed one of the bowls from the table and placed it on Poland's lap. He smiled, and ran the back of his hand across Poland's forehead. "That fever still hasn't gone down, hmm? I have some cold patches in the other room that will help."

"_Dzi__ękuję ci, przyjacielu._" Feliks said. "Ah, what do you think of this?"

"It's strange. But I'd like to get a little time for it to sink in before I discuss it," He replied, staring at the floor.

"No, I meant the pasta."

"O-oh, yes. Of course you did." He took his bowl off the countertop and let the hot steam drift up into his nose, waiting a minute to take a small bite. "It's very good. Not anything I wouldn't expect from the Italies."

"Yes, yes." He smiled, but it faded as he watched Lithuania. "You look bothered."

"You don't think that Holy Rome could have any part of this, do you?"

Poland glanced out the window. "We both know what became of Holy Rome."

"I know, but... I can't help but think..."

"It's just as probable that Holy Rome returned than that Roman Empire himself returned." Poland paused. "Let's hope neither of them did. Then we'd risk the return of the Golden Horde, Ottoman Empire, Persia, even Babylon for Christ's sake. Or maybe Macedonia."

"I know it's against the odds, but..." Lithuania sighed. "Maybe I'm just jumping to conclusions."

"Crazy conclusions, too." Poland nodded. "But everyone's jumping to conclusions right now."

"Yeah, I guess that's right."

Feliks reached out to put his hand on Toris' shoulder. "Hey. _Neleisk, kad tai privers Jus._"

Lithuania lightened a bit after hearing his own tongue. "_Ir galite man pad__ėti?_"

"_Aš jums visada pad__ės._" He took Toris' hand and pressed it to his lips, keeping the other man's eye contact. Lithuania blushed, then glanced at the ground. There was just too much to think about, too much to work through. He put his bowl on the table and walked towards his bedroom, closing the door gently as he locked himself in the dark. His bedspread was comforting when he curled up beneath it. Warm and welcoming.

Too much to think about.


End file.
